They had obviously made their plans to meet outside the pawnshop at opening time and just as Rumplestiltskin is flipping the sign he sees them. He knows who they are - how could he not? He lifts a hand in acknowledgement as he unlocks the door and limps back towards the counter at the rear of the room. The bell jingles, and he forces himself not to look back.
"I'll be right with you... ladies." He moves into the back of the shop, and Belle looks up from her cup of tea. He considers pressing a finger to his lips to signal silence and sighs, knowing it is useless. "Belle, please wait in here for a moment, alright?" Rumplestiltskin lowers himself to the floor and pulls out a large case, covered in dust. He swears he can hear a muffled chorus of giggles as he rises and dusts off his knees and adjusts his jacket. Then he straightens his shoulders, lifts the case and returns to the shop.
"You would protect her from us? Why, Rumplestiltskin, how... unexpectedly sweet. It makes us think better of you." Rumplestiltskin places the case carefully on the counter and gives a deep, formal bow. He must tread very, very carefully with these women. They would know everything, everything about him.
"I have read that it is... unwise to bring oneself to the attention of... you ladies." The women in the shop give another chorus of giggles, and he takes the time to study them. Three women, all of various ages. One is very young, not yet really out of girlhood, all rosy cheeks and dancing eyes. Another is middle aged, plump and kind looking; and the third is an old woman with a stoop to her shoulders and long white hair. It is the old one who speaks again.
"And yet you did, Rumplestiltskin. So one must wonder, is it bravery, or something else?" Rumplestiltskin inclines his head.
"Charity, ladies. These items came into my possession and I..." He thinks hard, and offers them truth. "No man should hold this power." The middle aged one comes forward, and he is shocked when she lays a palm against his cheek and smiles.
"No man ever does." She lowers her hand and unbuckles the lid of the case. The other two come forwards as well, and lift the items lovingly from the worn and battered box. The youngest takes a distaff spindle, the oldest a pair of shears, leaving a string with knots tied in it at regular intervals for the last. He can feel it, when they take possession of the items again, and he swallows, hard, at the magic that fills the shop, thick enough to drown in. The eldest speaks again.
"In thanks for this service, we offer you this. We shall see for you, if you wish it." He chokes on a laugh.
"You're offering me a wish?" The women laugh again.
"We don't do that," the youngest says. "And you know it. You know what we offer. Take it up as you like, Rumplestiltskin." He has to grab the counter to stay upright when the oldest meets his eyes. She does not speak, but a world of knowledge, of power, of magic, is in her gaze. Then she walks out, followed by the middle aged woman. The youngest pauses at the door, tilting her head as she gazes at the curtain separating the shop from the rear office.
"Be steadfast, and be true to your heart, Rumplestiltskin," she advises him. "Therein will lie your happy ending." Then she is gone, the shop bell tinkling merrily as the door closes. He staggers through to the back and slumps in a chair, putting his head in his shaking hands. He makes a noise, somewhere between a laugh and a whimper. Belle sinks to her knees beside him, concern in her face, and he knows it isn't concern about their ruined breakfast date.
"Are you alright?" she asks. He makes that noise again.
"Compared to what?"
"Who were they?" He shakes his head.
"No names, Belle, I won't speak their names. But..." He swallows. "But I think Storybrooke isn't going to know what hit it if those three get going." He shudders. "I just hope that... he... didn't come over, too." He gives a twisted smile. "It would give new life to the old saying about all Hell breaking loose." He tries a genuine smile for her and fails. "I'm sorry, Belle, can we do this another day? I'm just not..." She nods, but he can tell she doesn't really understand, and he doesn't have the words to explain, not yet.
"I'll be at the library if you... If you want to talk." Then she's gone, and he's left alone with a heady mix of terror and awe and fascination, and in the privacy of his mind, he thinks, Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos... Welcome to Storybrooke. And may the gods have mercy on us all.